


Farewell

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [27]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, TGC Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Harry says goodbye.





	Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: “I still remember the way you taste.”

Harry is used to cold, dreary weather. He lives in England, after all. But it’s like this entire damn country is mocking him, gathering the blanketed clouds, threatening rain as if in punishment. As if Harry isn’t punishing himself enough for taking one of their national treasures away.

He shoves his hands deeper into his pocket. “This…god, this feels stupid.” He studies the ground. “You’d tell me I was being an idiot, if you could. But Eggsy thinks this will be good for me. Saying…saying goodbye.”

He swallows hard, “How did you do it? When you thought I was…it aches so much, darling. I don’t…I don’t know how…”

This is so _hard_. He bites his lip and tastes blood. His fingernails are digging crescent-shaped marks into his palms, and his eyes prick as he fights back against the tears.

“I remember everything,” he finally manages. “I don’t know how I _missed_ it. Your favourite singer, Christ, I should have known. You only sang his records all the bloody time, especially when I was having nightmares. And all those…heh, those stupid sci-fi shows that I hated but you loved, so I’d watch them with you because it made you happy. And you couldn’t cook worth a damn, but you let me give you lessons, even though you were utterly hopeless.”

He nudges the ground with his toe, and then kneels down, ignoring the way his trousers are becoming damp and dirty in the grass. He places his hand against the earth, “I still remember the way you taste when I kiss you. The way you’d run your fingers through my hair as you drew me closer. How warm you’d feel under my hands.” He shivers, and laughs at the irony of the statement.

“I remember the day I proposed,” he murmurs. “How you couldn’t stop smiling. I’d never seen you look to happy, like you’d been lit up from the inside.” He hesitates, and then pulls his fist out of his pocket, “I’m still wearing my ring, darling. I don’t care if we never…never got the chance to walk down the aisle. I’m wearing it. Thirty years…we were as good as married anyway. And I wanted…I wanted you to have yours.”

He unwinds his fingers, and they shake when he presses the piece of metal into the ground. He swallows a sob and chokes on it, and then he can’t stop the tears. “Jesus Christ, it hurts,” he gasps. “How the fuck am I supposed to get over you, darling? How do you get over the love of your life?”

The earth doesn’t answer.

“Eggsy says I need to…I need to acknowledge that you’re…” God, he can’t even think the word. He leans against the freezing stone, pressing his temple to it. He can do this.

“You’re dead.” It takes more strength to get those words out than he’s ever needed for anything in his life. More than facing down Valentine and Poppy. More than the time he got captured in Venezuela and was tortured for three straight days. More than it had taken to propose in the first place, terrified of what his partner’s answer might have been.

He sucks in a shuddering breath, “You’re dead. You…you died.” Each time he says the word, it gets a little easier, tears a hole in his chest a little less. He pats the ground softly, “I had you buried in Scotland like you wanted. I know we argued about it, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t deny you that. You deserve to be put to rest at home. I just…I just always thought home was with me. But you’re…you’re dead, so I suppose you win this argument, you stubborn prick.”

He’s silent for a few moments longer. Then he straightens up and wipes his eyes, pulling himself slowly to his feet. He places his hand gently on the stone and forces a smile, “I’ll keep going, darling, because that’s what you’d want of me. And maybe someday it won’t hurt to think about you. Maybe someday I’ll be able to forgive myself.”

He pats the stone and nods. “Alright,” he says to himself. “Alright.” He turns away from the grave and makes his way back to the plane.


End file.
